Long Days, Short Years, Stiff Drinks

That's right.  I said it.  The weekends are the worst. In my experience with loss thus far, the weekends seem like this vast expanse of time I have in front of me with nothing to do but deal with my thoughts and feelings.  Absent are the routines and busy schedules that fill our weekdays and make time march efficiently forward with less space to think and feel the absence of him. With looser schedules and lazier days come quiet times to reflect.  The very qualities that I used to relish about our weekends together as a family are the qualities that now leave me anxious, restless, and longing for Monday for the first time in memory. With nothing pressing to do and heavy feelings pinning me down, I inevitably turn to distractions that make the weight easier to bear.  Sitting outside on game day, playing with our kids, having quality, relaxed family time is a healthy distraction and I couldn't get through this without my husband's steady love and support nor without t

I'm a creature of habit. I enjoy structure, routine, and getting things done, one check list item at a time.  Like my dad did, I find comfort in knowing what will happen next, what I need to do, and what my day/week/month will look like. This personality trait and way in which I manage my life left me feeling extremely disconcerted when I found myself in the position of not knowing what the hell to do with myself.  When my dad was first diagnosed, I'd spend what seemed like long periods of time doing nothing.  I was stuck, paralyzed with the news and unable to manage much of anything, much less lead a productive life. But day by day, out of sheer necessity, I started getting things done.  It started with the most simple tasks, like:  Get out of bed.  Put food in your body.  Brush your son's teeth.  Take a shower. A shift occurred when we moved in with Dad.  Things needed doing and we were there to do them.  I remember every meal I cooked, even something ridiculously

I had never given much thought to whether or not I would step up and take care of my parents when age or illness left them incapable of doing it themselves.  I guess we never want to face the mortality of a beloved father or mother, especially when we assume that end will be so far into the future.  But life happens and things can change in an instant. When faced with the reality that I was going to lose my dad, in a brutally short amount of time,  my brother and I had a decision to make.  I wasn't even conscious of the choice I was making because it was so clear and obvious and right.  Of course, he would go home.  We would take care of him.  We would figure out how to manage it all...our own children, our spouses, our lives.  We would see him through this with the end game being lights out on a wonderful life. Our culture hides from death.  We avoid it.  We don't talk about it.  We certainly don't watch it happen if we can help it.  In days past, generations lived